


Have Yourself a Harry Christmas Part 2

by mixedwithintellect



Series: Saint Nicholas Verse [12]
Category: Don't Let Me Go - Harry Styles (Song), Kiwi - Harry Styles (Song), Medicine - Harry Styles (Song), One Direction (Band), Sweet Creature - Harry Styles (Song)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fighting, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 03:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16189211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixedwithintellect/pseuds/mixedwithintellect
Summary: the one where Nick’s got nice soap arrangements, Y/N doesn’t enjoy late late nights, and Harry took off the nail polish





	Have Yourself a Harry Christmas Part 2

“C’mon, love, let’s get you inside.”

With his arm gently around her, Nick led Y/N into his apartment. She had shown up on his doorstep with only a few minutes notice, the cab driving off when Nick opened the door. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, her purse loose against her elbow, and her bottom lip wobbled slightly.

He hadn’t been given a clue as to why her eyes seemed empty, or why her shoulders were shaking but her cheeks didn’t show signs of tears. It was deeply unsettling for Nick, but he tried to keep his face and tone of voice calm as he led her into his living room.

* * *

Y/N barely registered the smell of cinnamon wafting through the air, a product of one of Nick’s infamous ‘it seems like I cooked but I really didn’t’ candles. The cinnamon one was her personal favorite, and he tended to only crack it out when she was around. Just like so many other little things in their friendship, it was purely theirs.

His apartment was nice, cozy like Y/N’s but with a better arrangement of art on the walls. The sofas were comfortable, and the array of knick knacks on the shelves were equally meaningful and useless, a nice balance that both Nick and Y/N appreciated in their home decoration.

Nick’s liking of paintings in particular had set her course in what to get him for Christmas. It was why she had researched an artist who had painted some of the works from Nick’s inspiration board the two of them had made months ago. Back when they thought Mood Boards and glitter in mason jars would fix the roaring waves of anxiety crashing upon their ears.

They had found better methods since, thankfully.

But the paintings on the wall and the sculpture near the window failed to capture her attention, as Y/N settled down on the gray couch. Her fingers clasped around one another, her hands rested on her knees, and her back was curled so that she was sitting on the edge of the couch, rather than properly sitting within it.

Nick sat down next to Y/N, putting his arm back around her shoulder and his eyes on her face, unable to hold back the worried slant of his eyebrow, or how he bit his lip with concern. Her eyes were moving around the room but didn’t seem to be taking much in.

“Babe, you’re gonna have to tell me what’s happened,” he murmured, but Y/N shook her head stubbornly.

It wasn’t unusual for this to happen, when she was going through a rough time. Nick knew this from previous breakdowns, as they both had seen the other at less-than-flattering moments.

For Y/N, she needed to establish a sense of normalcy. She hated feeling like an imposition or a burden to others, so having her friends speak about their days, stuff going on in their lives, allowed for her to gradually come to terms with what was happening in her own. It reminded her that bad things could happen, yet life could continue on, and her polite nature made her want to ensure her friends were okay, before she unloaded whatever fears she had carried to their doorstep.

“Do you want me to talk, then?” Nick asked, wanting confirmation that was the right path to go on, and Y/N nodded sullenly.

“Okay,” he began, relaxing back into his couch and pulling Y/N alongside with him. She leaned back finally, cuddling up next to his side, her head resting on his shoulder. His fingers danced along the back of her arms, because he knew she liked that sort of stuff, similar to how he liked it when Y/N brought out her special storage of Nick Blankets (they were super thick and very impractical for LA, but made Nick feel all warm and cozy) when he needed them.

“My day’s gone well so far. Been plannin’ out the party, with the decorations ‘n stuff. I’ve got the color scheme fit, but the guest list needs to be finished. Not sure if Terry’s bringing his wife...my  _god_ , I hope he’s not. She’s always got the rudest things to say ‘bout my chandelier. It’s just a fucking light fixture, I’m not sure what I’m expected to do to please everyone nowadays.”

Nick took a second to breathe, to see if Y/N wanted to speak up, but when she didn’t, he continued on.

“I’ve been a bit lonely lately, if I’m being honest-” he spared a glance from his stare on the ceiling, over to Y/N’s face, but it didn’t change from its stony appearance, so he pushed forward, “I dunno if that’s what’s going on with you, but somethin’ about the holidays makes me feel like I’m missin’ out. I mean, I’ve been loads busy but I’ve just not gotten the proper feeling, with it being December ‘n all.”

“I’m sorry, Nick,” she mumbled, and her arm went around to hold onto his side. She knew how he could get, sometimes, and knew he liked to feel grounded. To have the knowledge that someone wanted him there, to know that he was well liked for himself and that he was never alone. With all the parties and festivities he had been going to lately, sometimes things fell between the cracks, and the expectation of having a Grand Time weighed heavier on Nick’s shoulders than he let on.

That’s when they were there for each other the most, with their friendship of love and support. Y/N felt blessed, in the bits of her soul that had a minuscule amount of faith, with how well they got on, how it felt less like working towards some inconceivable goal of friendship, and more like a natural gravitation of two like-minded individuals, wanting to experience life together and simultaneously respect the differences between the ways they lived.

“Nah, I’m alright. I know I’m not alone, ‘specially since I’ve got the two lil buggers.”

Y/N’s head lifted at that, her nose scrunched up as she realized she hadn’t been attacked by puppy kisses and cuddles yet. She thoroughly enjoyed her cuddles with Nick’s dogs, each time wishing she had caved and bought the small puppy at the rescue shelter a year ago, before going back home and remembering  _nope,_  she was never home enough for a dog.

Nick shook his head, leaning to the side to check his clock hung up in the other room. He hummed as he did so, taking a quick second to read the analog design.

“Leo’s taken them out on a walk, he should be back in...an hour or so.”

“Leo?” Y/N hummed, and a sly sort of smile twitched at the corners of her lips, so Nick entertained the notion. Anything that kept the smile there for a fraction longer. He didn’t notice, though, that as he spoke, something behind Y/N’s face slipped and her mouth twisted with the suppression of keeping a secret from her best friend.

“Yeah, Leo. He’s been alright, pretty nice guy. Loves dogs more than he could ever love a human being, pretty sure-”

“Harry and I kissed.”

Nick had been expecting some sort of rebuttal, some argument about how Leo would fall madly in love with him eventually (which wasn’t something Nick thought was realistic, but Y/N was a hopeless romantic when it came to her friends, always setting them up in her mind with anyone and everyone). He hadn’t been expecting  _that_  from her lips, and his own parted in shock.

Y/N froze, as well, still staring out against Nick’s living room wall. They listened to the clock ticking against the silence for a moment, before Nick managed to get a few words out.

“Just now? While yeh were at his?” he asked, bewildered, knowing that they had plans that morning, but not understanding why they had fucking kissed. Y/N was dating Spencer, and Harry hadn’t shown a sign that he liked Y/N in a while.

“No.”

“When did it hap- _why did you not tell me_?” Nick questioned, feeling a bit of regret for Y/N’s flinch when his voice grew, but his hurt had swelled up in a grand wave of confusion. They were best friends, he had told her the things he hadn’t even told his own  _mother_ , and she kept this from him?

In the depths of his chest, he knew why; he recognized that he was close with Harry, and even in a split second, Nick could sympathize with the awful dilemma that kissing your best mate’s best mate could pose.

Y/N shook her head slowly, cowering into Nick’s chest, her bottom lip sticking out as she mentally went through everything again. It wasn’t even the kiss that had been weighing her down, but wasn’t that where everything really began? The kiss that held an essence of a promise, like it had sealed some sort of affection into her own breath and against his cheeks, and if she squeezed her eyes tight she could almost feel the way his hands felt against her cheeks and -

She was getting ahead of herself.

“I didn’t tell  _anyone_ , Nick. I didn’t know what it fuckin’ meant, I-”

“Love,  _love_.” Nick hushed her gently, shaking his head and feeling the baffled reaction within him dissolve as he saw his best friend close to tears. His instincts kicked in.

“I’m gonna make us a cuppa, then you’ll tell me  _everything_ , okay?”

Y/N nodded, her fingers reaching out to clutch at one of his couch blankets. Nick slowly removed himself from the cuddle, making his way towards the kitchen as he began processing what Y/N had said. She bundled herself up into the soft, patterned throw, tucking her cheek against one of the couch pillows and letting herself wallow in isolation, before slowly rising to follow him, the blanket around her shoulders.

* * *

“...The night of the gnome?! When’d you have the  _time_ , we were together all night?” Nick’s hands held tightly onto the cup of tea as he took another sip, his eyebrows arched with surprise. Y/N was sure he’d be excusing himself from the kitchen table shortly for another refill. There had been a lot of tea poured, a lot of feelings confessed, and Y/N’s heart still felt shattered.

“When I left to get water or something, and Harry followed...” Y/N trailed off, not particularly wanting to relive the night again. Not that the kiss hadn’t been nice (it was  _extremely_  nice, which was why she had agonized over it for so long) but the recent events made her wish it hadn’t occurred at all. Things would’ve been simpler, if she and Harry had just identified themselves as friends from the start, and kept it that way.

“Isn’t that the night I asked you about Marie?” Nick’s eyes widened as he pieced together the events he hadn’t known about, and how they coincided with what he  _did_  know.

Y/N nodded, her eyes trained on her own cup of tea.

Hers remained mainly untouched, mostly due to her go-to stress reliever drink being coffee, not tea. She understood Nick’s instinct to boil the water and ready the cups, though, and usually went along with it during their dramatic heart-to-hearts, taking sips when it had gone cold without really tasting much of a difference.

“Why’d yeh tell me to set them up, Y/N?” Nick sounded incredulous, which made sense to Y/N but she couldn’t put the explanation into words. Her feelings had meshed together into something indecipherable.

How conflicted she had felt, how her first instinct was to jump to the worst conclusion – that Harry had mentioned it to Nick, that he had asked for a way out, that Nick was trying to let her down easy – all of these  _absurd_  possibilities seemed exactly that, in the bright light of  _two months later_ , and Y/N couldn’t formulate any words that expressed it better.

“I dunno. Just thought...just thought it’d be for the best. That maybe I read the situation wrong.”

“So you two just...” Nick trailed off, a hand gesturing out into the air to signify the muddled mess of ‘nothing’.

Y/N nodded again, shrugging her shoulders when she felt the tingling prick of tears edging closer against her throat.

“Nothing else happened. We just became good friends, stayed that way during his tour. I mean,  _you_  know how much Harry and I talked, we’ve been over it before.”

And while that was true, the discussion of Harry and Y/N’s closeness had gone down under the guise of faux jealousy from Nick, without the understanding that Harry and Y/N had, at one point, been interested in each other.If Nick had known, he would’ve helped them to address their feelings, get them in a place where they could’ve been open with each other, as opposed to getting more lost in the ‘what is this’ blurred regions of their friendship.

“You know, I tried to set you two up, near the beginning. Was why I started the group chat, wanted you two to meet,” Nick confessed, and Y/N’s jaw dropped, her grip loosening on her tea cup.

“What the fuck, Nick?” she swatted at his arm, and for a second he found the glimpse of Y/N hidden beneath the mundane facade of repression, “What happened, why’d  _you_  bring up Marie?”

It sounded more vulnerable, a voice crack and a slight wince in her face, like she was curious into his opinion of the idea of her and Harry together. As if he had found something she didn’t, seen a flaw or a warning sign that Y/N had missed.

As if she needed to know what Marie had, that she hadn’t.

“Honest?” Nick asked, and Y/N narrowed her eyes, indicating that  _yes_  she wanted it honest, “I just figured it wouldn’t work, after a while of seeing you two hang out. You both seemed  _so_  swamped with work. Thought Marie might be a better fit for Haz, she’s much more casual.”

Y/N’s mouth twisted as if she had tasted something sour, but Nick interrupted before she could even ask the inevitable  _what the fuck_.

“It means,” he started calmly, “That you like it when a man can commit and stay around. Marie isn’t like that, she’s fine with vague communication ‘n stuff. And that suited Harry’s situation  _at the time_ , more.”

Y/N stubbornly glared at her tea, knowing that Nick was right.

It wouldn’t have worked out between them at the time of their kiss, with the knowledge of his tour hanging over their minds. The present itself was enough of a clusterfuck, before bringing questions of what Harry and Y/N could be, in different circumstances, into the mix.

She had Spencer, for Christ’s sake, and the sudden revival of these feelings reminded Y/N how much Harry could excite and hurt her all at once. Especially with how she tended to read too much into the small things he did, back when a touch on her shoulder felt like a ripple in a lake, and a laugh from his lips felt like his lips pressed to hers all over again. Spencer was never so mysterious, he was always blatantly clear about his expectations and desires. Y/N appreciated that.

“Well, what happened  _today_?” Nick asked, which was honestly the main question he had on his mind. He had been in similar situations before, when a relationship with a friend became ambiguous and unsure, and things crumbled and rolled into each other to become bigger or lesser, and overall a confusing mess. He had never been like Y/N was at that moment, though, and Nick frowned.

Y/N explained everything that had taken place earlier on in the day, although she skipped over when they had bought Nick his Christmas presents for obvious reasons.

She placed extra attention and emphasis on the questions Harry had about Spencer, and how the man answered questions about Marie. Something had stuck out in her mind during those seconds, whether it was just her heightened sensitivity or if she were looking for something, she wasn’t altogether sure.

“-and then I...mentioned...uh, the supermodels,” she finished, feeling her stomach swoop down with intense regret. It blossomed against the sides of her stomach, vines of pain shooting up against her ribs and she felt nauseous. A part of her couldn’t believe she had genuinely said that to Harry, didn’t want to accept the reality that had led herself to the current situation.

Nick was shocked.

“ _Y/N_...” he mumbled, perhaps not fully recognizing that he had spoken out loud, else he would’ve lessened the tone of disapproval. All she could do back was nod, numb, as her best friend in the entire world looked at her, disappointed.

“Y’know most of those are fake, yeah?”

Another nod.

Nick sighed, running his hand through his hair.

“Harry’s not close with a lot of people,” Nick began, choosing his words carefully and his tone of voice swaying in an odd rhythm as a result, “-and it’s mostly ‘cause people tend to have a misconception about him from the start. About his sex life ‘n stuff, which no one should have a proper right to know about... _but_ , point is when he trusts someone enough to be his friend, enough to let them listen to his ideas for bloody  _unreleased_  music that I’ve not even heard-” Y/N shot him a pointed look at that, and he widened his eyes and nodded, signaling that  _yes_ , he knew about that “-it means he’s let himself be free ‘round you. And that’s a lot for him. Means more than it does to yeh and me, since we don’t have everyone in the world up our ass-crack, trying to see who else has been up there.”

Nick took another pause, before continuing.

“He told me that he likes you because you always take him at his word. That he is to you who he says, that you know  _Harry_  before Harry Styles. Just thought he meant as a friend at the time, dunno about now, though.”

A splash in her tea cup startled her a bit, before Y/N saw that she was crying. They fell slowly and didn’t cause her body to wrack forwards; it felt like a natural reaction, like her body had been filled with so much sadness and regret, that she had no other way to let it out.

Nick let her cry without comment, realizing that any effort to try and stop the tears would be futile. It was important for her to cry, anyway; she was the type of person who needed to let it out when her emotions boiled over, lest she repressed everything even more.

“What about Spencer?” Nick asked, quietly. He wasn’t going to judge, because he knew how crazy over Spencer Y/N had been. She was proper smitten with the guy, something Nick hadn’t understood, but now somewhat got. He was certainly different from Harry, and after the emotional turmoil that angsty guy tended to cause, a straightforward guy like Spence obviously had a sort of appeal.

If this had been a mistake of some sort, Nick knew damn well that it was a genuine mistake. Y/N would never string someone along for the sole reason of not making it work with someone else, her take on ‘love’ was more serious than just needing a body next to her. And with one look at her red-rimmed eyes and fidgeting fingers, Nick figured this had been on her mind, as well.

“I don’t know what to do,” she spoke quietly, a gasp breaking around her words. One of the tears slid down the side of her nose, reaching the tip, and her hand flicked it off fully. Nick’s eyes went from her down to the table, as he sat in quiet contemplation.

“Does Spencer even know? About you and Harry?”

Y/N paused, before shaking her head, one of her hands going up so she could rest her forehead, leaning down on the table and staring at the wood pattern.

“I didn’t think it was important,” she moaned, ‘Cause it was in the past, y’know? If he’d asked, I wouldn’t have lied about it. But like-” she shook her head again, “-I just didn’t think about it. I was just happy with Spencer.”

The past tense clung to the air, tendrils sinking themselves around the light fixture and the heavy body slinking down towards the pair at the table. The connotation of the tense, the impact of the word choice, revealed itself a moment after she spoke. Nick watched her carefully, trying to figure out what she herself couldn’t translate into words.

“Maybe you should talk to him about it. Even if you don’t know how you’re feeling, the conversation still matters,” Nick suggested gently, and Y/N took a deep breath.

“Y-yeah.”

She paused, her mouth opening and closing before she decided to go for it, to ask the question that had been beneath her tongue for a few minutes now. Y/N wasn’t sure if there was an answer, if, like most things, it would be revealed what to do after a length of time, when things didn’t seem so serious. But, it didn’t hurt to ask, especially since Nick knew Harry so well.

“What should I do about Harry?”

They both looked at each other in silence for a second, Nick nodding in thought and letting out a sigh. He seemed as conflicted as she was about the situation, and Y/N could tell he wasn’t particularly on anyone’s side, but just there to help pick them both up. That was a comfort to her, because the regret in her lungs that was like a vine clinging to her bones would’ve only gained strength if Nick had felt caught between two people, two of his best friends.

“Not sure, t’ be honest. I do know  _one_  thing.”

Y/N waited for him to speak again, the ticking clock behind her head seeming like extraordinarily loud in the silence.

“He doesn’t just...he doesn’t just kiss  _anyone_. It’s not quite,” Nick groaned, reaching up again to ruffle his hair. Y/N tucked hers behind her ear again, shuffling in her seat and sniffling.

“It’s not-it’s just he’s  _shy_ , when it matters to him-” he looked up at Y/N to find her searching within his eyes, nodding as her own drooped with more tears, “-he’s a bloody Greek god, don’t get me wrong. And he knows that too. But when it comes to talking about his feelings, he’s shit. Proper shit. And kisses tend to lead to that sort of talk, so he doesn’t often make a move like that unless he’s got a hope.”

Harry might’ve had hope.

Y/N felt awful.

Nick’s disappointment had faded into sympathy by this point; he cared deeply about both of these kids, and the more he thought about it, the more the idea of them together made sense. Yet, they had been so far in their own minds, that things had gotten jumbled around until the only emotion they could exude was frustration.

“Y/N, take some breaths,” his hand reached out to cover her free one, and she attempted a smile, “It’ll be okay, you ‘n Harry can talk about this, make up and whatnot. It doesn’t seem like either of you meant what you said, yeah? But I think what’s most important right now, is tha’ you be honest with Spencer. If you’re gonna make a decision, he’s gotta have all the information.”

“What kind of decision would I be making?” Y/N asked, half confused and half wanting Nick to be the first to say it.

“Well, do you have feelings for Haz still?”

“No.”

“Is that the truth?”

“Yeah.”

“Pinky swear over Mr. Gills’ grave?”

Mr. Gills had been Y/N’s old goldfish, one that Nick had won her at a carnival and had only known the world for three brief days, before its remains became acquainted with her guest bathroom toilet. Nick and Y/N often swore of Mr. Gills’ grave as a sign of complete somber truth.

Nick’s pinky was held out, but Y/N didn’t do the same. In fact, it seemed like her pinky had withdrawn itself deeper into her palm, a shift of the hand to tuck it away from a type of perjury.

She avoided eye contact and shuffled her hands around, shrugging repeatedly and staring out the window.

“No,” she finally admitted, and Nick nodded, satisfied.

“You don’t have to say you  _love_  him or anythin’, but are there still feelings?”

“I didn’t realize-” her throat choked up a bit, and she swallowed before continuing, “I didn’t realize there  _were_  still feelings until today, I swear it. I just, I didn’t even realize how different it’d be to see him in person again.”

Before they could continue on, an intense rattling shook their attention. Nick jumped slightly and Y/N’s head immediately turned to her purse, having that millennial sixth-sense that it was her phone. And there, in the depths of her wallet and keys, was her mobile ringing, vibrating against whatever was in contact.

When she pulled it out, she saw Spencer’s name flashing across the screen, with a photo of the two of them cuddled on his couch. He had taken it of them a couple of weeks ago, when Y/N had called for a proper movie night and pillow fort competition, which had failed disastrously but still brought a smile to her face.

She wasn’t smiling now.

“One sec,” she mumbled to Nick, whose eyes were caught by Spencer’s name, before she swiped at the ‘Answer’.

“Hey, Spence.” She tried to keep her voice as casual as she could make it, and fortunately Spencer didn’t seem to notice anything different.

“Hey babe!” he crowed, and Y/N couldn’t distinguish the lurch in her chest as butterflies or nerves, “Just wondering when you’re coming over tonight, I was planning on getting Indian. Are you still at Harry’s?”

Y/N’s chest deflated some with the mention of his name, her breath catching in the depths of her throat momentarily, which overall felt dramatic, but she didn’t have too much control over her reactions at the moment.

“Actually, I went over to Nick’s. I’ll be at my place in a bit, though, do you wanna come over?”

Nick nodded at her, smiling to show her that he was supportive, that he agreed, and mostly that he didn’t want to hear the inevitable fight happen in his kitchen, with Y/N on the phone.

“Sounds good.” Spencer paused, and Y/N’s heart thudded in anticipation, knowing he was either toying with what words to use, or simply distracted. Regardless, she was praying he wouldn’t ask why her voice had cracked, or if she had been crying, or-

“Did you tell Harry I liked Kiwi?”

“Oh,” Y/N breathed a sigh of relief, before answering, “No, I forgot to mention it. I’ll tell him later.”

Not fucking likely was she going to ever speak to Harry again. Not after he told her that she was living at bare minimum, as if her standards were drastically lower than his own. He had known her insecurities about not having it ‘all figured out’ in her early 20s, and he had hit her where she was weak. Even though she regretted some of the words she had spat out, she couldn’t deny the wrenching rips of her heart. He had hurt her too.

“Kay, sounds good. See you in a bit!”

The call ended rather quickly, which was fortunate for Y/N because her stomach was in absolute knots. They pulled and tightened against one another, building up in the complicated twists and turns as she bit her lip.

She hadn’t the slightest clue what to say to Spencer, how to explain her predicament and try to approach it with him as a team, rather than as an individual. Because that was the point of being together, wasn’t it? Isn’t that what she had always insisted relationships were about? Learning how to deal with life’s problems together, supporting one another and whatnot. Even when it got hard.  _Especially_  when it got hard.

It was because she was scared,  _that_ was why she had to tell him. Because even though it was one kiss, and even though it was before she’d met Spencer, the fact it was still prevalent in her mind meant something. That seemed more and more likely the longer she sat at Nick’s table, mulling over what had happened, what hadn’t, and why it bothered her.

Nick smiled at her gently, as if he could read her mind and could see how sense had begun to slowly grow once more in her mind, like daisies in the springtime. He knew she would get back up on her feet eventually, that this was just a low moment that was necessary to reassess everything. She was strong, she’d push through.

“Alright, love, I can drive yeh home,” Nick offered, and Y/N murmured a thanks as he stood up from the table to go get his shoes. As he rounded the corner towards his room, Y/N felt her phone buzz again from the palm of her hand. Figuring it was Spencer, she unlocked it with her fingertip without checking the notification, swiping to access the messages.

She read it once, and then twice, before realizing it wasn’t from Spencer at all. It was her group chat with Nick and Harry, and it was Harry’s name next to the text bubble. To see his name was unnerving for a handful of reasons, but the most obvious was that it had been  _XXX My Ass_  for so long, since the beginning of their friendship, really, and Y/N swallowed against the lump in her throat.

The message reached forward and grabbed onto the edges of the blanket, wrapping it around her neck until she felt slightly suffocated, her throat straining against the material, and overheated, a rush to her head making her face feel hot.

_Hey Nick, can I bring a +1 to your party? xx._

Nick entered the kitchen silently, leaning against the doorframe as he slid his other shoe on. With his free hand, he held up his phone, obviously having received the same message that Y/N did, but a second too late.

He didn’t realize it was too late, his head whipping to look at Y/N, his mouth opening to ask her to just delete the message, to not read it, because life’s unfortunate timing had struck again and he wasn’t sure how she’d take it. But then he saw her raised eyebrows, the way her fingers were posed over the keyboard, as if she were going to type back, before setting the phone back down on the table.

“Oh, love,” Nick went up to her chair, settling in the one next to her, and immediately pulled her in for a hug. Her hands wrapped around his middle, her face hidden in the front of his shirt (surely staining it with makeup, but Nick had learned to keep stocked on Tide pens years ago), and she began mumbling words Nick could barely make out. He thought she was saying to go ahead and tell Harry it was fine, that she was totally cool with it, that she didn’t know  _why_  she was crying and to just ignore it, but Nick knew better.

He reached for the table, picking up the phone and leaning back from Y/N to slide it into his back pocket.

“C’mon, Y/N. Let’s go. I’ll give this back when we reach your place, alright? Think you’ve got enough on your plate right now.”

Y/N nodded, wiping beneath her eyes at the tears half-formed. She didn’t know why the message had gutted her. Or she did, and didn’t want to address it. Everything was a fuckery at the moment, and while everything seemed to make glaring sense, she feigned ignorance. It would be too difficult to admit that she had made a mistake, that she had let her heart be attached to someone before it had fully left another. And she hadn’t even realized.

Being unaware of something seemingly catastrophic at the moment, felt like waking up in the midst of washing blood off one’s hands. Like she had done something unspeakable, like she was the villain in the play that no one would root for, because who could do that without knowing? Who could block out how their heart raced when Harry giggled, or how he seemed to be high up on her priority list? Who could pretend like that was only friendship, while being with another man?

She really didn’t want to be the bad person. As if it were a movie role that needed be fulfilled within a cinematic relationship, as if she couldn’t escape the label or mold her situation to fit her. The ringing memories of Harry kissing her, of seeing those blurred photos of Harry and Marie out, of meeting Spencer and forgetting to text Harry back for a few hours, of sleeping with Spencer for the first time and feeling a warmth in the pit of her stomach. Of everything coming together and not quite fitting.

The memories swarmed up to the top of her mind, clouding her vision and keeping her only half-aware as Nick led her to his car.

Y/N continued stewing in her thoughts, and Nick let her without interruption. Again, he knew her well enough to recognize that barraging her with questions would only confuse her more. She’d come to him again when she was ready, when she needed someone to bounce ideas off of.

“I think,” Y/N broke the silence, and Nick nodded to himself, knowing that was exactly what she was doing, “I’m going to tell Spencer everything. And we’ll decide what to do from there. I don’t think that my feelings for Harry are founded on much, y’know? Like, we’ve really grown close over the phone, and that’s different from in real life ‘n stuff. I think it’ll be okay.”

Y/N nodded to herself, shifting in the seat so her purse was firmly in her lap, and her hand was over the clasp.

“And what about Harry?” Nick asked, raising an eyebrow and shooting a quick look at her before focusing again on the road.

A pause.

“It’ll be okay.”

* * *

Y/N had roughly an hour alone before Spencer arrived with the take-out. It was enough to get herself cleaned up, to wipe beneath her eyes and collect the smudged mascara and eyeliner, to reapply the powders so her cheeks weren’t so shiny. She felt a bit ridiculous, having all those tears come out over something that shouldn’t have upset someone who was logical, someone who could answer Harry’s questions like a normal human being.

She was with Spencer because that was who she liked, and Harry was just a friend. Wasn’t that the truth? 

Was the truth supposed to be this hard to get right?

She just needed to start the conversation, that was all. Y/N couldn’t wait for Spencer to ask what was wrong, she wanted to put herself out there, even if it meant having to make the first move.

Hyping herself up took more out of her than Y/N had realized going into it. The impromptu dance party as she cleaned up her living room, making up the bed Spencer had left, and turning on the lights for her multi-colored Christmas tree only helped so much.

The unsettling drops and swoops of her stomach refused to settle, and Y/N wondered why it had to be her chest that felt so tight. Like her heart was thudding for an escape, as if it were trying to leave and curl up on her bed, have a proper cry over the events that had taken place in Harry’s living room only hours before.

When Spencer had entered her home, the plastic bags crinkling with the boxes of food and Spencer calling out, “I’m here!”, Y/N thought she might throw up.

So, in order to make sure the discussion didn’t involve chunks of tea and the bits of bread Nick had given her on the car ride back, Y/N decided to wait until she felt more relaxed. Until she could make eye contact with Spencer and not feel like crying, until she could breathe.

Half an hour later, with the two of them cuddled on the couch, watching shit TV programs and making crude comments about people’s house-buying decisions, and Y/N hadn’t made the first move yet.

In fact, weirdly enough, it was Harry who helped her out with that. Another text from the Devil himself in the group chat caused her phone to vibrate, and in the dramatic recesses of Y/N’s mind, the foundations of her relationship cracked with it.

 _James and Jules are in the hospital. Baby’s coming!!_   _They asked me to host Late Late tonight. xx._

It wasn’t an out of the blue text by any means. The conversation between Nick and Harry had continued after Nick dropped Y/N off at her house, and Y/N kept up with the messages. Nick had let Harry know it was okay to bring a +1, and the two of them chatted about appetizer options for an hour or so. Harry had a lot of recipe ideas that Nick didn’t want to cook, and Harry didn’t have the time before Nick’s party to do them “properly”, so the pair had been at an impasse.

It also wasn’t completely random for someone to text the group chat with new updates of how their day was going. It was completely normal. It was also normal for Spencer to glance at her phone screen as she was reading, because the group chat typically consisted of memes and random remarks that Spencer found amusing, despite not getting the context of the situation.

Y/N wondered if it would be more convenient for life to body slam her with hurtful, awkward situations, rather than seeping it into her day like an IV drip.

“No  _fucking_  way,” Spencer turned to face Y/N more, his arm tightening around her shoulders as he grinned, “That’s so cool, Y/N! Let’s stay up and watch it, I bet he’s gonna kill it, you always say he’s so funny and-”

“Can we talk?”

Y/N’s blurting tendencies had drastically increased in the past 24 hours, and the surprised look on Spencer’s face seemed to prove that it was, in fact, out of character. The connotation of the words, too, cemented in the minds of all couples as draped with Warning Flags and Caution Signs, neon lights and red tape.

“S-sure,” he stuttered, moving so his arm was no longer around her body, lifting up the remote to mute the TV. Y/N made the move to sit up, as well, feeling a rush of adrenaline kick into her veins and make her hands shake, a bit. She folded them and played with her fingers to cover up how nervous she was. How much she wished the world could swallow her whole.

“So, y’know how close Harry and I are, right?”

Spencer froze, his eyes flashing with something unreadable, before he nodded slowly. He didn’t speak.

“Well,” Y/N looked down at her hands, before firming her sight on Spencer again, reminding herself to just speak candidly, “We had a small thing happen, before you and I met.”

The silence between them felt like an elastic band that was stretched almost to its limit. The two of them sat, waiting for it to snap and preparing themselves for the whiplash.

“What  _kind_  of small thing?”

“J-just a kiss,” Y/N mumbled, looking at him worried. Spencer’s expression hadn’t changed, he was still looking at her as if she hadn’t begun talking yet. And, to an extent, she supposed she hadn’t.

“And?” he prompted.

“Just wanted to let you know. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but today...when I saw him, for the first time in a while? I don’t know,” she sighed, reaching up to fix her hair and rub at her eyes a bit before continuing, “We hadn’t discussed the kiss because things got busy right after, and then he left on tour, and one thing led to another...”

“Did you fuck?”

Y/N blinked, startled, before rapidly shaking her head.

“Oh Good  _God_ , no! We just talked about the kiss, that’s all. And we ended up fighting, it...didn’t go well.”

Spencer nodded, his eyes seeming somewhat glazed over. Y/N felt a wave of sympathy for him, because she knew that her words didn’t explicitly hold any meaning that would hurt him, but the imagination can take one out to the highest cliff around, even at the slightest thought of something bad.

“What did you think?”

“What did I think?”

“About the kiss,” Spencer was speaking through gritted teeth, obviously uncomfortable at himself for asking, but wanting the answer regardless.

Y/N opened and closed her mouth several times, completely at a loss as to what to say. Her plan of honesty flew out the window, because how was she supposed to look her boyfriend in the eye and say what was on her mind?

Spencer sighed, shuffling against the couch, glancing around the room, as if Harry were hiding behind her gnome, before spitting out another question.

“If he asked you out, what would you say?”

“I’d say I’m dating  _you_ , Spence,” Y/N shook her head, but Spencer rolled his eyes, “We’re together.”

“Bullshit, you know what I mean. If you were single.”

Her vision blurred as she looked at Spencer, and she felt her nose crinkling with the effort it was taking to not cry. The silence was a siren between them, and even though Y/N genuinely wasn’t sure what she would say, if the hypothetical situation were to happen, the seed of doubt had been planted in Spencer.

Spencer looked off, rolling his eyes again and grumbling to himself. It took a few seconds before he spoke, and Y/N was still reeling with how she felt. She knew Harry, she knew him almost as well as she knew Nick at that point, but there were still pieces of themselves they hadn’t uncovered. Exposure to the depths of their feelings was almost inconceivable.

“I always had a weird feeling bout that guy. You two talk a lot, y’know?” Spencer’s words felt like sharp pokes into her side, and Y/N nodded, despite it being a rhetorical question. He sighed again and stared at his girlfriend, bitterly swallowing against the lump in his own throat. Fuck this, he wasn’t going to sit around and let himself be compared to someone he knew Y/N wouldn’t leave.

“I’m not like him, Y/N. I’m not gonna wait around for you to realize what you want, y’know? I can’t do that, I need someone who immediately  _knows_  they want me and just me.”

“He hasn’t been  _waiting_ , Spence. That’s ridiculous-”

“Is it?” The two of them sat, staring, and Y/N couldn’t find it within her to say  _yes_ , “You said he’s going out with someone, but is he really?”

“I mean, I don’t know about right  _now_ , he’s been busy, he was on tour and-”

“Fuck that, you two talk every  _fucking_  day. He’s got the time every fucking night,” and his words were spitting out, his eyebrows furrowing together as he sat up on the couch, feeling more confident in his words and in his anger, “Wake up to you FaceTiming him more often than not-”

“Time zones!” Y/N cried out breathlessly, waving her hands as if they would erase the moment and let them just forget it all, “He has questions, he wanted to show me his hotel room-”

“Listen, Y/N,” Spencer’s nostrils flared as he tried to calm down, tried to speak rationally and respect what they were together, to properly address the situation in a way that he’d be okay with later, when the red faded from his eyes, “I really like you. I really,  _really_  do, but I need to know you feel the same.”

“I do, I do,” she found herself begging, tears stinging her eyes. “And we can figure out whatever this is, together. I can let go of what was in the past, I truly think I can-”

“Are you saying that because we’re together, or because you want to?”

The question hit like whiplash, Y/N wasn’t expecting it and she sat back, physically startled and mentally shaken.

Spencer waited a few seconds, before calling his losses.

“Listen, I’m gonna go.”

He stood up from the couch, walking in front of the TV where Brenda and Martin were purchasing their first home, after a long search balancing a good school district zone and a nice enough kitchen for Brenda’s side job making dog biscuits in the shape of Iranian political figures.

“Spence...” Y/N held out a hand.

His back was to her when he stopped in front of her door, before he turned slightly, his eyes set on the floor.

“I’ll come back for my stuff later, ‘kay? I just, I can’t right now.”

“Okay.”

It was all she could say, really, because who was she to ask Spencer to stay? If he needed space, she could give him space. She wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was, if this was something she needed to work through on her own. But she just knew that she had some shit to deal with, and she had tried to see if she could do it with Spencer. And he wasn’t up for it, which was his decision and was okay.

It still hurt, though.

But he’d be back, and they’d talk about it again, and everything would be okay. Wouldn’t it?

* * *

She wasn’t planning on watching it. It truly was not in her mental schedule for the night.

Y/N had hoped to be asleep by now, wrapped up in her blankets and ignoring the fact that her bed was emptier than it had been for a long while. She expected her arms to be wrapped around a pillow – and to be fair, they were – but the pillow was against her chest as her knees were up on the couch.

The Late Late Show was about to begin.

“ _All the way from Holmes Chapel, Chesire...”_  the show started, and Y/N instinctively held her breath. As if seeing him would be more dramatic than a simple entrance, as if she hadn’t seen him hours ago. The excitement of being a late-night TV show host, even if it were only for tonight, felt very alive to her. Despite being mad, and her wounds still aching from his words, Y/N knew this was a difficult challenge for him. And she was proud, in a natural way that overlapped any of the current frustrations she held for Harry.

The curtains parted, and Y/N’s eyes strained to make out his face clearly. Her demeanor changed almost immediately, her focus was brought back to the Harry she knew, as opposed to the Harry Styles confidently walking towards the audience on her screen.

Were there tear marks, where there spots of patchiness the makeup couldn’t cover properly? If he had been crying, had it been over the introduction of new life into the world, or over Y/N? She felt shameful and selfish, aching and angry, all at once.

He looked extremely happy. Tongue poking out, bowing at the audience, blowing his kisses, dancing slightly to the beat (which Y/N knew was his go-to when he felt unsure, when he needed the reminder that others were working alongside him and it wasn’t him against the world). The distance between them lapped up against her mind, like waves pushing them farther apart, yet Y/N could see him through a telescope, almost, understand him although they felt worlds apart.

And they were, with him on stage and her sat on the couch. Harry had his feet in two opposite dimensions, one of glitter and fame, and the other of hurt and reality. No one lied on camera, even the most obvious lies could be planted in a garden of Charm, Charisma, anything but the web of pain lies created. If he smiled, he was happy. And that’s all the audience needed to know.

He began his monologue, but Y/N found herself only catching words here and there, her mind fighting against the weariness of the early hour. She stifled a yawn and brought the couch cushion closer to her body.

His hands were behind his back, and that was why she missed it at first.

It was when he began speaking with his hands, waving them about as he explained how he had been at the hospital, Y/N noticed something. And perhaps it was her mind trying to hurt her further, because when she saw it, her thoughts were stones, dragging her deeper in ice-cold water. Torrents splashed against her eyelids and the rushed sense of a waterfall overtook her mind.

His nails were completely bare.

Blackened edges were spotted around his nail beds if Y/N peered closely enough, but sure enough, he had taken off every bit of nail polish he could.

Y/N was going to be sick.

She couldn’t pay attention, even when the audience was roaring with laughter, as she numbly watched from her couch. The polish meant something. She knew that for a fact, like she knew the sky was blue and the grass was green.

Was removing the polish his way of removing her? Was it a process, with him bent over the table, swiping carefully at each nail, cursing her out underneath his breath? Did he keep the bottle of polish she had recommended, or was that thrown in the trash? How far did the analysis of removing black nail polish go?

Y/N tuned back into the program, biting down on her bottom lip and groaning under her breath. Why she had continued to watch was beyond her, but he was up there being charming, as always. He was addressing CBS or something, looking dead on at the camera before winking, and then finger-gunning the camera.

Not that Y/N was over-analyzing (which meant she totally was, and her journal was going to receive all the possible theories in a week or two), but that was his response to her, when they were joking around before he had left, before things in their friendship had shifted. It was on the late nights/early mornings at the local grocery mart, the crafts store, any place where they roamed the aisles as an excuse to not call it a night, to not address the fact that they couldn’t spend another night together.

Y/N would say something stupid, start making puns about the products around her and begging Harry to buy her any amount of ridiculous things she could get her hands on. Eventually, the jokes would turn dirty, and Harry would just wink at her before putting the items in the cart, a smirk somewhat hidden to himself but still noticed by Y/N as she tried to change the topic. And when they were across the thrift store from each other, and Y/N was holding up the weird denim jackets as high as she could, he’d finger gun at her to indicate  _yeah, put it in the cart_.

Y/N put her head in her hands, groaning to herself. It was all too much, her mind was racing too fast, and her thoughts were grossly offensive.

“What are you  _doing_?” she muttered, fully realizing that it was on another world of pathetic to be watching the show. Nick had texted, offering to come over after Y/N told him that Spencer had left, but she just wanted to be alone. And what did she do in isolation? Made everything worse.

The audience roared again with laughter, and Y/N looked up just in time to see Harry, cocking his hip out, a shit-eating smirk on his face, saying he had made up a joke himself. And Y/N could tell he had, she could see the pride on his face and the way his smile had stretched into the territory of ‘I’m doing so well oh my god’ and it really, really fucking hurt.

Harry didn’t always look that good, did he?

It must’ve just been her mind tricking her, now that he seemed so far away, sadness gripping at her vision and making the stabbing go deeper, make the regret flood higher.

Her head went back down and remained on the pillow, rolling her cheek to the side so she could still catch a glimpse or two of the screen, until Harry mentioned a  _kiss_ , when her face shot up and she genuinely felt the Indian dinner churn in her stomach. (Spencer had left it and Y/N wasn’t going to let a good take-out go to waste, not her fault.)

“Fucking hell,” she mumbled when she realized it was a kiss he had shared with James, not her. And that Harry was probably not even thinking about her, not when he was filming, or even after. He was probably at some after-show party, toasting to his great success, brushing off deals from TV executives dying to get his face on their cameras, collecting phone numbers of fantastic contacts who could get him anywhere in the world, meeting interesting people who he’d ask to paint his nails next week, and-

And then it happened.

“I have to be very honest, it’s not exactly how I saw my day panning out. Um, I was sat at home, two hours ago-” and his eyes shot down, blinking a bit more rapidly than normal.

It was a split second, but that was enough.

Y/N held her breath, gripping the pillow tighter. He had snapped out of some train of thought, and Y/N knew damn well that he had been thinking about the fight. Again, she knew it like a fact. It was just in her veins, she could tell.

He broke the set-back with some comment about his suit, but Y/N could tell his mind was still working on lurching back from the words, from the feeling, from the horrendous aftermath neither of them had approached fully, quite yet. Because he was on national TV and had to get his act together, but even the sliver of exposure, a hint at how wrecked he might’ve been inside, comforted Y/N. In a dastardly way, she knew, but it made her feel not so alone.

Watching him dance like an idiot was hard, too. Not because he looked like a sixth grader trying to break the awkward tension at the middle school dance, when all the boys were on one side and all the girls were on the other.

But because she found herself giggling and staring at her TV screen like she would if he were there, like he was an idiot and attention-seeker (which he totally was), and he would smile at her like he always did, a flash of teeth and a dimple poking into his cheek, his eyes watching her as she moaned about how shit his moves were. He’d then pull her against his chest, fingers lacing into hers, before he’d stumble off towards the makeshift dance floor at whatever house party they were at, making her walk backwards until she inevitably stumbled and his hand rested on the small of her back for support.

And then they’d dance together, using alcohol as an excuse and their friendship as a guise. She felt ridiculous now, because at the time she had understood them to purely be friends, and was convinced the sparks were in her mind alone. She used Marie’s existence as a barrier, an explanation as to why Harry’s hand lingering on her back was just him being too drunk to think much of it, a reason as to why Harry’s searching eyes was just him being  _him_ , being a cuddly drunk who liked to take up a person’s essence when he spoke to them. Who liked to make them feel special, because God knows the world never did.

It was after the episode, when she was laying on her couch in the sullen darkness after having turned off the TV. She was ten minutes into searching for a will to move over to her bed, when her phone buzzed again. She groped in the darkness to find the bugger, before her fingertips ran into the phone and she slid open the messages.

It was Harry, again, in the group chat.

_What did you guys think? xx._

Nick responded immediately, letting Harry know that he had done a great job, and telling Harry off for never offering to fill in for Nick. Y/N looked at the screen, scrolling up through the day’s texts that had been between Nick and Harry exclusively, before deciding that 2 in the morning (which was never a good idea, she should have some sort of app that blocked her ability to text after midnight) was a good time to be an adult and respond.

_Stupid jokes but the dogs were cute._

It was radio silence, which felt much longer as she found herself, yet again, staring at her phone. Waiting for something. Not being able to see the dots across the screen and wondering if it had been too much. Harry had texted the group chat, though, not Nick personally, so that was a strong indicator in itself that he was okay with her responding. Maybe the group chat was neutral territory for him.

No new messages came through from the group chat.

Y/N trudged up towards her bedroom, not feeling particularly surprised but still a touch disappointed.  Once her head hit the pillow, though, she was out like a light, too tired to mourn Spencer’s stuff littering the path to her bed. They’d work it out, she thought sleepily. It would be okay.

And in the nights following, she was too tired and cried-out to take notice of how much emptier her apartment was, with Spencer’s stuff in boxes. And eventually, Spencer’s stuff was gone.

* * *

“Pretty wild color scheme.”

“Shuddup, it’s just gold, red, black, and forest green.”

“So, why is only the green’s shade specified?”

“ _Uhh,_ because fuckin’ Terry’s wife is gonna rip me a new one if it’s the wrong one?!”

Y/N let out a deep sigh and intensified the speed of her swivel, turning around and around atop of one of Nick’s barstools by his kitchen counter. She had been at Nick’s since 7 that morning, helping him set up for the party and reviewing every minute detail. Nick was an extravagant host, even if the actual events were fairly humble. The food was sure to be excellent, the music carefully planned out to be a seamless transition between most genres (except country, of course), and the booze was to be a continuous waterfall of good tides and cheer. What Nick did, he did well.

“Why’d you even invite Terry?” she yelled out the question towards the empty archway, hearing Nick shuffle around the bathroom to set up his fancy bath salts, so guests would think he was a luxe man with pubes smelling of vanilla caramel.

“He’s a family friend,” Nick yelled back, before pausing. “No, that’s not quite right. He’s...uh...I don’t  _know_  Y/N, but I think he’s bloody important o’ summat.”

“Right, right,” she murmured, slowing down as Blob padded closer to her. Pig sat in their new dog bed a few feet away, looking glumly at Y/N as she knelt down to pet the small, excited pupper.

“Oh you like your new bed, don’t you?  _Don’t_  you?” she cooed as the dog flopped its tongue out, licking at Y/N’s hand softly as she scratched behind the ears. According to Nick, Harry had dropped by the previous night to bring over his Christmas gift. It was most likely to avoid seeing Y/N until he absolutely had to, as the pair hadn’t spoken since their fight a week ago.

Y/N wasn’t sure what to think, even after a week.

She had brought in Nick’s new painting earlier, after giving him the heads up a couple days before so he wouldn’t have an additional thing to worry about, and it now was placed over his couch. Nick had fallen in love with it, dramatically kissing Y/N’s cheeks as if they were in an old-fashioned film together, praising her for her magical abilities of knowing what he liked. As if they hadn’t gone to countless galleries together, with Nick taking careful notes of his likes and dislikes that he would send out to his friends as a personal memo later in the evening.

Y/N had a lot of love in her heart for Nick.

“Your gift’s coming in late, I’m afraid,” he had informed her, and she shook it off with a grin and a wave of her hand. She didn’t particularly mind, the gifts weren’t the highlight of her holiday season, anyway.

“Alright, how’m I on time?” Nick called out, and Y/N reached down into her back pocket to withdraw her phone.  
  
“About two hours before the early birds show up,” she replied, knowing that some of Nick’s friends liked popping in as early as possible in order to excuse their early good-byes. And Nick didn’t mind, in fact he held a great deal of appreciation for those who came early. The party’s swing/vibe/mood/whatever Nick called it that night would have a chance to launch before others showed up, and there was rarely a moment of quiet once the actual assigned time of the party rolled around.

“I should go and get ready, can I use the guest bathroom?” Y/N asked, groaning as she stood up and made her way over to where Nick was stacking extra toilet paper beneath the sink. Always the planner.

“Yeah, just don’t mess up the soap arrangement.”

Y/N blinked, before nodding and briskly turning around, walking back to where she had laid her duffel bag in the guest room. The plan was for her to spend the night at Nick’s; ever since she and Spencer broke up, things had been rough. Shadows turned into abysses of isolation, and an empty apartment housed nothing but reminders and negative spiral thinking.

It had been rougher than she could put into words, what it felt like to lose her boyfriend and one of her best friends at the same time. It felt like a wrench hitting her chest, every time she would check her phone instinctively for a text from either of them, before remembering they had their reasons to be staying away. And who could she blame but herself? Even with Nick, conversation would come to an unnatural still point when Harry’s name would’ve been mentioned. Which was infinitely more often than Y/N would’ve realized, if things had been normal.

Y/N spent more time than she would’ve, inspecting her reflection and making sure her outfit fit her body how she wanted it to. She was dressed comfortably; Grimmy didn’t throw a gala dress code into the invitation, and it was hard enough to survive in the LA heat without worrying about a face full of makeup.

She was still trying, and she’d admit it too, how she wanted Harry to see her and not see the woman who had spent too long crying over men she had hurt and lost. Frankly, if the night went well, Harry wouldn’t even see her. They would miss each other by  _seconds_  the whole night, if luck was on her side.

(Spoiler: luck was never on her side).

With a deep sigh, she dusted one of her fluffiest makeup brushes over her face once more, reaching for the setting spray tucked in her bag.

“C’mon, you’ve got this,” she whispered to herself, but her reflection seemed unsure. “You’re just going to say hi to Harry and Marie, and then get massively drunk with your friends. But-” she snapped, as if reminding herself sternly, “-you’re going to lock yourself in the guest bedroom before things can get out of hand,” she wagged her finger, “Don’t need to be making a fool outta yourself.”

She gave herself a stern nod, twisting around to see how the back of her outfit looked, and gave an agreeable thumbs-up to the mirror. The woman standing before her seemed put together, like nothing had ruined her holidays, and Y/N was more than willing to play the part for the night.

* * *

The party was a thriving mix between a celeb-filled gala and a small house-party, with recognizable faces by the punch and fireplace, but everyone was swaying, dancing, and not using that high-pitched laugh and poised manner in the way they’d stand in groups at more formal events.

Nick’s closest friends weren’t the type to blab to the media about who was seen with who, wearing what, etc., and Y/N loved Nick’s parties for that reason. Not that she would’ve been sought out, by any means, with her casual mention in articles about the “normal women” Harry Styles hung out with, and whether or not she was a lesbian. But it still meant she could cut loose a bit more, not worry as much about the people around her being documented and thus her, to an extent.

Harry thought it was a good party, too, as he held open the door into Nick’s entryway.

Neon lights streamed down the wall as he helped her take off her coat, which hadn’t been necessary with the Los Angeles warmth, but she still wanted to bring it in case the night-time introduced a new sense of frigidity into their December. Harry had done the same, mostly to please her, and hung his own up on the rack.

She was positively glowing, and Harry couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he, hand wrapped in hers, brought her through the mass of people.

He stopped to say hi to several people he vaguely knew, especially when they reached out to stop him and gush over the woman next to him.

“Harry! Lovely to see you again. Who’s this?” the group nearest the door cried out, drinks in one hand, a cigarette tucked between their fingers, and random Mardi Gras beads slung over their necks.

Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulder, almost protectively, as she blushed.

“This is my mum, Anne,” he said, his dimple deepening as his mother stuck a hand out and greeted them.

Harry didn’t know all of Nick’s friends, but the majority of them certainly knew of him. He and Anne had quite a few people to get through before they could make their way towards the bar.  Will, Bryson, Monica, Patrick, and Terry were all overjoyed to  _finally_  meet Harry’s mum, as they had put it with a mock English accent that made Harry cringe internally, and even Terry’s wife was pleased to meet her. She did, however, insist to know Anne’s opinion on the shade of the napkin’s green compared to the half-inflated balloon behind the ottoman in the living room.

“It’s just atrocious, I truly think Nick’s color-blind,” Terry’s wife widened her eyes, and Harry prayed to the heavens above to help him keep his laughter in check.

Anne didn’t really have an answer for that one, and Harry made sure to hurriedly whisk her off to find the punch bowl. Nick was around somewhere, most likely about to start a round of Waterfall to keep his friends friendly and drunk. Harry wasn’t too sure if he wanted his mother to join in on that, despite him knowing that Anne was more than willing and often was more of the life of the party than he was, so he poured themselves both a water at the bar.

Set to the sound of Post Malone rapping about rock stars and drugs, the party was going well. Conversations began and ended and flowed together into a sea of words, laughter, and the occasional yelling. Anne’s eyes were sparkling as she took a sip, scanning over the decorations against the walls, and lingering on the painting behind the couch.

“Is that one new? I like it,” she asked, and Harry leaned down to hear her properly, before looking the way she had been. His eyebrows came together, before he recognized where he had seen it before, and with pursed lips, he nodded. Anne looked a touch confused at his reaction, but shrugged it off, turning her attention to the hired entertainers who were making their way through the crowds.

Harry was wearing a thick knit white sweater with black jeans, the pockets of which one of his hands seemed to be stuck within. His posture was slightly bent, his eyes scanning over the crowd again and again, with his hand holding his drink occasionally rising to push his hair to the other side of his head, before fixing it. A few minutes later, the process would start again, and Anne recognized the nerves in her son from a mile off.

The pair of mother and son were talking to each other and those around them, as conversation tended to peak and intensify when Harry Styles entered the building, and everyone wanted to meet his mother and tell her all sorts of embarrassing stories about him. She took it well, gasping at the proper times and laughing at some of her son’s antics. Harry had the sense to look sheepish, but she could tell something was still off.

It was when they were alone again, Nick’s friends trying to hunt down the appetizer tray of fancy cheese sticks, that Anne realized what was happening. His eyes seemed brighter, caught by someone across the room, a new flush in his cheeks that wasn’t due to the eggnog they had switched over to, a bit earlier.

Anne’s attention was taken off the magician who was pulling someone’s card out of their shoe, distracted by finding the person Harry was staring at. The music swelled in the moment, crescendo-ing against the air, which suddenly warmed and the lights were a touch brighter. He didn’t notice his mother straining her head to look through the crowd, the way she turned again to see the direction in which he was looking, before settling back on her heels when she recognized Y/N.

The woman was standing by the fireplace, holding a half-full glass of drink as she was laughing with a small cluster of people. A man with a heavy beard and thick mustache was speaking to everyone, his hands out wide and exaggerated as he spoke, and his audience seemed thoroughly engaged, breaking into raucous laughter at the right moments. A string of Christmas lights were around some people on the duvet behind Y/N, and occasionally she would step to the side so the lights wouldn’t get caught around her feet.

Anne recognized Y/N easily, especially since she had followed her on Instagram and wasn’t an absolute idiot. Harry had mentioned Y/N quite a bit, more than he would a normal friend, as if he was trying to make sure his mother knew that name in particular.

She had figured there was something there that hadn’t been brought up yet, with how Harry would retell Y/N’s jokes and talk about how “wonderful” she was, which had soon become both a compliment of Y/N’s personality, and a way for him to address what she meant to him. Her assumption had come to an abrupt halt earlier in the night, when she had asked if Y/N was going to be there as well, and Harry had responded with a grunt of, “We aren’t talking.”

As if that were an answer, but Anne supposed it was an answer within itself.

“Stop staring,” she murmured to her son, unable to hide the smile growing on her face. She could see they were on the rocks at the moment, with how quickly he had shut down the conversation about Y/N, but seeing her son light up at the very sight of a woman (one who seemed to have her head on her shoulders) warmed her heart.

Anne worried about him frequently, how often he was alone, in strange cities, in strange countries, not knowing many people but everyone feeling like he owed them something. It had been a comfort, hearing Y/N’s name so often and knowing he had a good friend back in LA, one who he could talk to from various time zones.

And, if Y/N’s Instagram posts were anything to go by, Harry was just as special to her.

“I’m not staring,” Harry grumbled, taking another sip of his drink. With a sigh, he paused, before taking another swig of it and not letting his eyes roam back to Y/N’s corner anymore. He instead focused on the magician, humming in distant surprise as someone’s card was found.

Anne shook her head, a gentle smile on her red lips.

"You're staring, dear. And she's looking back, you just don’t see it."

And it was true, that when Harry would duck his head down, Y/N would lift hers, worry creasing her forehead lightly as she eyed him up and down. When she spotted the woman standing next to him, Anne clearly recognized tension, and perhaps the faintest smidge of jealousy, from the tightness in the girl’s shoulders, before she recognized Harry’s mother and raised her fingers in an embarrassed wave.

Anne waved back.

“Go talk to her, you don’t need to stay with me all night. I know Paul in the other room, I can go play Scrabble with them.”

“I’m not ditchin’ my mum,” Harry said sternly, taking his hand out of his pocket to hold onto hers. She held his hand tightly, giving it a squeeze, eyes crinkling as she smiled. “You’re my date tonight, the only one I wanna talk to.”

Anne’s face then shifted to look less than impressed, choosing to just stare at her son until he dropped his shoulders and sighed.

“I don’t even know what t’ say, mum. Last time...it just didn’t go well. ‘N she’s probably here with Spencer.”

“Spen-who?” Anne asked, shaking her head.

“Her boyfriend.”

“You can still talk to a woman with a boyfriend, Harry. She isn’t going to slap you like she’s exceeded the amount of men allowed in her life.”

Harry was disgruntled, eyes quietly shifting to Y/N, before realizing she was looking back at him. In a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it made the lights dim lower and the crowd noise lessen, and his heart picked up a tiny bit and-

“I’m going to go play some Scrabble,” Anne mused, drifting off to go find Paul and beat his ass with eight-syllable words. She gave one last glance at her son, who was still staring at Y/N, before humming to herself. He’d figure it out eventually.

Harry walked near the group Y/N was in, his hands in his pockets, his drink abandoned in the kitchen, and his head ducked a bit low. He was trying to be casual, walking through the crowd of people as though he hadn’t a destination in mind. Whether this failed or not, he wasn’t sure, because he could feel the heat of Y/N’s eyes on the side of his face as he walked by.

“Haz!” Nick cried out, tugging on Harry’s sleeve so the younger man stumbled into the group. When he lifted his face to smile at Nick, he saw Y/N out of the corner of his eye, staring as she sipped on her drink. Harry looked over at her, though, wondering if she’d hold the eye contact, but her head snapped to the side, her attention suddenly on Samuel and his story about Sea World and aliens.

“How’s the party?” Nick asked his friend, and Harry could tell by the dazed look in Nick’s eyes that he had thoroughly enjoyed the eggnog thus far, and was having a grand time himself.

“Lovely. Heard you’ve got fancy salts ‘n your bathroom,” Harry replied, a cheeky grin on his face at Nick’s weird antics. Nick laughed, a booming sound as he pulled Harry in closer, giving him a tight hug.

“Love yeh, man,” Nick mumbled into Harry’s neck, and Harry squeezed his best friend tightly in response.  They were cuddled together, arms around one another and Harry’s legs somewhat on Nick’s lap. Harry couldn’t properly explain what came over him at that moment, but he leaned in closer to Nick and whispered.

“Why isn’t Spencer here?”

Harry knew what Spencer had looked like, and might have even looked up the man’s Instagram earlier on in the day to make sure he’d be able to recognize the sharp jaw, the green eyes, the shaggy hair. But nobody at the party fit that description, and Harry knew if  _he_  were at a party with Y/N, he would never leave Y/N’s side. Especially not when she was glowing like that, with her eyes sparkling. Which meant only one thing: Spencer didn’t come.

Nick froze for a second, before looking at Harry. It was as if he were looking Harry up and down, trying to decipher his motives, before determining him worthy enough for the information.

“They broke up three days ago.”

Harry looked away, nodding lightly as he processed it. Regret welled up against the back of his throat, when he realized that he hadn’t been there for Y/N when she must’ve been hurting, and panic simultaneously gripped at his collarbones when he wondered if he had anything to do with it. Not that Harry was particularly big-headed, but the timing of the two events seemed to be too close to be a coincidence.

After a few minutes of the group discussing various topics, none of which captured Harry’s interest, the people began moving around. Samuel went to go find his ex, Tom, in hopes of rekindling a lost love, and Jarisel wanted to show Rita how to make her special Christmas cocktail.

Soon, it was only Nick, Harry, and Y/N left.

And Harry felt positive in that Y/N would’ve walked away already, if the situation were different. Because there was no way she wanted to stay in the awkward atmosphere, with Harry staring at the carpet and Nick rambling about how  _stunning_  Leo looked in tight jeans. But no, she wanted him to be the one to leave. Harry knew this by how her eyes would flicker up at him, her jaw clenched and her straw stuck between her teeth as she continued to sip on her drink. One, continuous sip it felt like, and Harry almost asked if she had any water. Because that’s what he would normally say, under normal circumstances, when he didn’t have a gaping hole in his chest.

“I want to make sure Leo sees my soap arrangements,” Nick declared suddenly, lurching forward to lift himself off of the couch. Harry offered an arm for his friend to use as support, to which Nick mumbled “thank yeh”.

Then, abruptly, it was just him and her.

He could feel her staring at him, as if he couldn’t see and as if it had no repercussions. Which it did, because everything she did impacted Harry, whether she knew it or not, and he couldn’t deal with those eyes looking at him anymore, not when he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Not when he didn’t know if she regretted her words.

“What?” he snapped, glaring over at her, once he decided it had been long enough.

“Nothing.”

Her response was immediate. Her eyes didn’t stray away from his, and he was surprised to see that they were filled with curiosity as opposed to hatred, which was what he had been expecting. It was a relief, partially, but it also made him more upset, perhaps irrationally so. He wanted her angry, because that was the only way he could justify his own.

“No, what?” Harry repeated himself. She was stood, still, by the fireplace. The couple behind her had moved, most likely to find an empty closet or bathroom. Harry was sat on the couch, on the arm rest because Nick had been sitting on the couch and Harry hadn’t moved, and it was all pretty useless because that’s where they were, and Harry didn’t know who would move first.

By some coincidence, they were alone in that space of the party, a bubble of tension in the midst of so much cheer and friendly commotion. A distant yelling was heard from the living room, where Nick and Leo had been caught under the mistletoe.

“I’ll tell you later,” she mumbled, and had the decency to look away once she recognized the fire in his eyes. Y/N wasn’t sure how to express it, the anger she had before the party, the relief of seeing Anne, and the irritation of having so many questions she didn’t feel she had the right to ask.

“No, yeh can tell me now.”

“Fine,” Y/N relented rather quickly, perhaps agreeing that it was best to get it over with, leaning her head back to finish her drink before setting it down on a stray coaster. It slammed a bit loudly, and a few other party-attendees glanced up at Y/N in drunken interest. She didn’t look over, though, her eyes set on Harry. “Let’s go outside, then?”

Harry nodded, agreeing silently that it needed to be a private discussion. They were too somber for the party right then, anyway, with Harry cutting his way through the crowd to pick up his coat from the front, and Y/N following right behind him. They slipped through one of Nick’s back exits, out to his backyard.

It was Los Angeles, but the night air still felt cold. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, with Harry refusing to make eye contact with Y/N, and her feeling very hesitant to say the first word. She felt like a voodoo doll, waiting for the next prick, anticipating the way her heart would be shredded once again. It had been a rough week and encountering Harry while drunk couldn’t end well.

“So, Marie couldn’t make it?” she found herself asking, and shut her eyes in frustration. Those weren’t the words she meant to say, and Harry didn’t seem to appreciate it either.

“Haven’t seen her in a few weeks,” he confessed, running his hand down his jaw. It looked more scratchy than he usually preferred it, and Y/N had half a mind to ask what else had changed.

There was still no nail polish on.

“And all the models on my phone couldn’t make it either. Cause that’s the only reason I’d bring my mum, yeah? All the women I’ve been fuckin’ were too busy being meaningful elsewhere.” He breathed out harshly through his nose.

They were roughly halfway across Nick’s yard, pacing without a sense of direction towards a group of trees. The wet grass squished against their shoes and their hands buried in their coat pockets, each of them looking down at the soil instead of at each other. Harry walked on ahead, his pace slower than Y/N’s as she trailed behind, swinging out her feet as she walked so it wouldn’t seem so rushed. It felt awkward, and Y/N began to wonder if she would ever feel normal around Harry again.

“Harry...”

He wasn’t finished.

“I just fuck models and break hearts, isn’t tha’ right?” he asked bitterly. His eyes were more vulnerable, though, flicking finally to her face, and countering his words with an exposed sort of plea. Asking her to not to agree, begging her to insist that he was who he thought he had been, before her words had made him rethink everything.

“Dunno if I can say, it’s a bit hard to see all the way down here from the bare minimum,” she retorted, feeling upset for him but also pissed off for herself. He had no right to say that, and she was going to make it clear as day that she had a damn right to be hurt, as well. The sway in her mind, the way the air nipped against her skin and made her feel more grounded than tipsy, collided against her breath as she glared at Harry.

Harry bit his lip.

“I didn’t mean it.” he whispered, hoarse and pleading.

“I didn’t mean it, either,” Y/N admitted, deflating somewhat and shrugging her shoulders up so her coat would cover more of her neck. Their voices had changed from accusatory to more of a soft confession, like they were sat at candlelight in a rickety pub, hands in the other’s and their words a hushed apology. But, in fact, they were stood in a lavish area of town, in the dank cold, their words the only sounds surrounding them.

“I just got angry, wasn’t the right thing to say.” Harry continued.

“Why were you angry?” She felt it was a fair enough question, as their discussion a week ago had obviously escalated beyond ordinary conversation, but Y/N still felt a bit lost as to why things had gotten so out of hand. She felt there were tensions about their kiss, unspoken words that she was nervous about approaching.

"I can’t feel those certain things, love. I..just can’t.”

“What things?”

Harry sighed, stopping suddenly in the grass and turning to face her. Y/N shuffled around a bit, looking down at the ground, before back up at Harry. They held eye contact for a few moments, both of them unsure of how the other felt, before Harry furrowed his brows, a deep concern setting in the lines of his forehead.

“Stop starin’ at me like  _that_ ,” he tilted his head, trying to keep his emotions at bay.

“Like what?” she diverted her eyes regardless, feeling a rush of embarrassment as if she had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Like yeh...” Harry swallowed harshly, and in the moonlight Y/N could see a tear make its streak down his face. His hand went up to quickly brush it away, but as he blinked, a few more dropped against his cheeks. His eyes flicked up towards the stars as he tried to keep them in, before he let out his answer.

“Like yeh care.”

It was weak and vulnerable, his voice cracked on the end and Y/N realized she hadn’t understood the concept of heartbreak before that second. Because right before her stood a man, a boy named Harry, who had his heart on the line, with all its bruises and scars, and he could do nothing about it. She had a glimpse of him without any type of facade, even the normal ones that people carry with them daily, and all he could do was stand there and wait.

He couldn’t bring himself to believe that she cared. Because the implications of that messed with his mind, and he had been so hurt by her rejecting him before, that he was overwhelmed and at a loss as to how he should interpret her words or her actions.

“Of course I care, Harry.”

He watched her silently, his eyes moving to scan hers. They were still wet, tears collecting at the inner corner, but they didn’t budge from behind his eyes. She supposed hers looked similar, as her vision had blurred considerably and she felt the deepening weight on her chest which meant she would be crying soon, too.

“What am I to yeh?" he lifted his chin up, his confidence in the questions building up incrementally as she hadn’t run away yet, as she still stood there and they seemed to have gotten over their insults and petty attacks.

“You’re kind. So fucking kind, nicest person ever, I swear. And you’re well read, and smart, and giving, and beautiful, and  _fuck Harry_ , I don’t know how to explain-”

“How can I be enough for you?”

They were both crying. Harry in particular broke first, his voice cracking on the last word and his eyes filling up quickly with tears. He still stood firm in front of her, making no apology for his words or his crying – he needed an answer, and the way her cheeks were watered by running tears made his chest ache. His lips stretched out in a thin line as he attempted to hold his own tears at bay, but it didn’t work.

“What-” Y/N felt herself blubbering, and she raised a hand so her sleeve could cover her mouth for a brief moment, as she tried to collect herself. Blinking away the tears made her eyelashes thick and stick together.

Harry was still staring at her.

He needed an answer, he needed to know what to do. Harry had felt that loss, when he thought Y/N was pushing Marie onto him as a form of rejection, that he couldn’t offer her what she needed. He knew he couldn’t offer the stability Spencer did, seeing as he had to leave in a few months to go travel the world again.

His plan for the first tour was just to get to know Y/N better, to see if there was anything worth pursuing when he had the ability to commit, but he had come to the brutal realization that he might have genuinely not had a chance. That he wanted to be more for her, but all he could offer was Harry.

Y/N felt a devastating sadness for Harry, it crashed against her bones and sunk her heels into the ground. Nothing made proper sense to her, yet, but she knew that a piece of her had stayed with Harry, ever since he had left for his first round of touring. She knew that she cared for him so deeply, it hurt sometimes. It hurt on the good days, and it was torture on the bad ones. And perhaps it hurt because she restrained herself from fully showing it, for whatever reason her brain could provide.

“Why’d you kiss me?” she asked.

It seemed like no one was getting answers that night, with how the bullets had been fired and how they had both been reduced to tears. Harry’s own had slowed down some as he transitioned into numbness, into the state of being were he could take whatever rejection Y/N might’ve had saved up for him.

“I...I wanted to. And you wanted to, right?”

“Yeah. I did.”

The numbness was fading away, and Harry saw a glimpse of what hope might’ve looked like.

“I had gotten to know yeh a little better since we’d met, and I just needed to know.”

Y/N held her breath, after uttering a, “Need to know what?”

“Just...” he took the few steps that brought them closer, and from this distance she could see his face more clearly, and her gut felt wretched and raw but he was still beautiful. Because Harry was simply beautiful to her, because he was a good person and she perhaps wasn’t at the stage of ‘love’ yet, but there was a  _yet_  and that in itself spoke so loudly.

“Are you going to?” she whispered, as if anything louder would hurt them more.

“Can I?” It was more than a question of whether he could duck down and narrow the distance even more, but a question of if she would stay this time. If they could talk it through, if this could be a Beginning instead of just another Moment. It was a question of whether they could do this, without breaking each other again.

“I-I just broke up with...” her eyes had been caught by his lips, staring as his hands reached forward. His fingertips touched hers, gently curling around them until he had both of her hands firmly in his hold. His thumb moved over her skin, and a small ripple of a shudder made its way beneath her jacket.

“I know,” he whispered, and Y/N swore his eyes had galaxies in them. The tears worked like a magnifying glass, intensifying the gleam in his his pupils. “And I know we’ll be sensible tomorrow mornin’, but let me have tonight?”

He was staring down at her lips too, one of his hands untangling from their hold. His thumb moved to rest on her bottom lip, gently but still weighed against her mouth, his eyes flickering up to meet her own.

“Can I have tonight?”

Y/N nodded, her mouth opening to speak but no words came out. His thumb almost went in her mouth, like it was an instinct of his, but then his palm reached out to cup the side of her face, holding her cheek as if she were fragile, as if she were going to disappear with the sun and all he’d be left with were memories.

This kiss was different from their first.

With the first kiss, tucked away in her kitchen against memories of wine and gnomes, Y/N didn’t know much about Harry. She had been surprised by how gentle he had been, how soft his lips were, and how quickly he had gotten wrapped up in the moment.

This time, she knew.

She now knew the lip scrub that he used was one his mother’s friend made, back at home. She knew that he used to own the butterscotch one, but he had switched to vanilla a few weeks ago. Vanilla was his favorite, but sometimes he liked switching it up for the various lip tints that each flavor came with. And she knew that he would always purchase the lip scrubs in person, going to his mother’s friend’s shop and greeting her with a warm hug and leaving with a bag full of balms and scrubs.

She knew that he liked to have his hair pulled when he was kissed, but that it sent a special sort of shudder down his spine if she were to lightly move her fingers up the nape of his neck, brushing against the tiny hairs before locking around the thicker ones. She knew that not many people knew he liked it, and she knew that he was surprised, a staggered groan coming from his throat, that she had remembered.

She knew that when it took a second for Harry’s eyes to close, it was because he needed to see her for a moment longer. She knew that he wanted to see her eyes close, to see her briefly before letting himself feel her.

He kept his lips closed again too, this time, more focused on getting them both acquainted with an aspect of the other that had remained behind (but not forgotten) for over two months.

What neither of them had expected, however, was the feeling of coldness on their cheeks. With his hands still against her skin, thumbs lightly on her jaw and his fingers clasped against her neck, Harry leaned back a bit, sighing as he did so, as if he were reluctant to break away just yet.

Y/N’s eyes were still closed, her lips rosier than before. His attention was caught by that, before she opened them to look at him, and then at his cheek.

“You’re crying still,” she murmured, her hands moving from his hips to brush off one of the tears. Harry smiled, a wobbly, teary sort of smile, and his own fingers brushed at her cheek. Her smile was similar, because she knew just as well that she had a few tears left to squeeze out.

“Yeh are too, love.”

“I’m just really  _sorry_ , Harry-” and her eyes squinted together, and Harry could see the blurry signs of more tears to come, so he did what felt instinctive. He pulled her in close, breathing in deeply as she immediately fit against his body, like they were puzzle pieces. His hands moved to wrap around her waist as he held her, tucking his head on her shoulder and speaking softly in her ear.

“I’m sorry, too. Shouldn’t’ve said anything, didn’t mean it. Swear I didn’t, I know you’re working hard.”

Y/N had her head in the crook of his neck, and reached forward to press kisses against his skin. She could feel him swallow hard, as his grip on her tightened and he kissed her shoulder. They shifted from speaking with words to kisses, which spoke more than they could’ve vocalized at the moment.

He pressed short ones to her lips, harsh and desperate, and the two of them eventually started grinning against the slowing tears, laughter bubbling out of Y/N when Harry missed her lips and kissed her Cupid’s bow instead.

“Think it’s so funny...” he grumbled, his eyes roaming her face as if he hadn’t ever seen her properly before. She bit her lip and shrugged, her hands slipping beneath Harry’s coat, both for warmth and to have a better grip on his waist as she tilted her head back. Standing on her tiptoes, she was about to kiss him gently on the nose, when a voice broke through the dark of the night.

“Hey, Y/N!”

While Y/N moved to take a step away from Harry, the man only held her tighter against him, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before looking in the direction of the house.

“What, Nick?”

“Did you buy extra hummus? We ran out, can’t find any in the fridge.”

Nick seemed completely unfazed by his two best friends huddled in the dark together, Y/N’s hand on Harry’s ass and Harry staring at Y/N like she put in the moon in the sky. Nick just kept his eyes on Y/N.

A slight grin might’ve been twitching on his lips, though. He  _had_  been rooting for them, after all.

“Uh,” Y/N looked quickly at Harry, and he murmured a  _go ahead, it’s okay_ , before she turned back to Nick. Harry’s arms dropped from around her body, and Y/N walked over to the house, as Harry stood alone for a quick second to readjust.

“I  _think_  I did, but we might’ve snacked on it before the party,” she confessed, approaching Nick, who was leaning against the door, his arms crossed and a suspicious amount of faint lipstick on his neck.

“Ugh, damn. Leo really likes Sabra, he says it changed his life,” Nick muttered, before glancing back over at Harry.

“Hey,” he whispered, nudging Y/N with a ridiculous grin on his face. “Who kissed first? Anne’s said you’d do it, but I’ve got a tenner on Harry. Think he’s got the balls.”

Y/N tried to make an angry face, to do something that showed how annoyed she was that Harry’s mother and Nick had placed bets within the time span of the party, but the pleased grin on her face couldn’t fade away for the world. She didn’t really mind, anyway, so long as she made half Nick’s profit.

“Harry.”

“Thank  _fuck_ ,” Nick brought his hands together, eyes going to the sky briefly. “Anne’s gonna have to pay up.”

Y/N swatted at Nick’s arm, but the older man dodged it easily. He didn’t seem bothered by the redness in both of their eyes, as Harry walked closer, knowing his two besties were being emotional lil shits again and just getting their feelings out. He just stood there, grinning at them like he hadn’t seen them in years.

“We all good, then? Don’t have to cancel our threesome for New Years, do I?” Nick crowed, slapping his hands on their backs and looking between them. Harry was still drawing himself out of the haze of the night, the eggnog working a bit against him in terms of speed. Y/N was all bright-eyed and rosy-lipped, and Nick wondered what the acceptable length of time was before he was allowed to tease her to death. Harry always took a few days before he’d understand it was just a joke.

“Oh, Nick...” and when Y/N spoke up, Harry’s eyebrows furrowed together because she couldn’t be denying what happened outside,  _could_  she, “-just invite Leo and make it a foursome. I’ve totally called this, by the way,” she turned to Harry, raising her eyebrows and Harry rolled his eyes, a relieved sigh escaping his lips.

“Oh, the thing between Leo ‘n Nick? Totally obvious, dunno why he’s tried to ignore it,” Harry agreed, and it was Nick’s turn to pout.

“Guys, stop it! He’s just a friend, not my type at all,” he whined, before realizing that his best friends’ attention had been suckered in on the lipstick. Nick had the decency to look sheepish, running his hand down his neck and looking at the porch.

“I, uh...Merry Christmas!”

With that, Nick’s arms flew around Harry and Y/N both, holding them tightly against his body as he mumbled some nonsense Christmas songs he had hodgepodged together after his sixth round of eggnog. After a few moments of hugging, Nick looked up towards the sky (meaning to loudly thank Jesus Christ for dying on the cross for everyone, or something to that extent) before he realized a bunch of mistletoe had been taped up over their heads.

Yelling triumphantly, Nick placed a wet one on Y/N’s forehead and swung his head around to kiss at Harry’s closed eyelid.

“Merry Christmas, Nick,” Harry laughed, and Y/N kissed Nick’s neck, right next to where Leo had marked him up, a dopey grin on her face as the holiday spirit (ie, the eggnog) took full force over her body. Harry kissed the other side of Nick’s neck, to which the man giggled and complained about being ticklish.

“Merry Christmas, you filthy animal,” she teased, and Nick mumbled an incoherent response, understood to be full of well-meaning insults and Christmas-related jargon.

“Now yeh two kiss,”Nick instructed, stepping back from his friends. He pressed his palms together, obviously excited to finally witness a kiss,  _definitely_  still mulling over the fact neither of them had told him about the first one.

Harry looked over at Y/N, a soft smile on his lips as he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on her cheek.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he murmured, and Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as she said it back.

“I feel ripped off, that was a fucking disgrace of a kiss. You two been out here slobbering all over each other-” Harry burst out laughing at this point, “-and I don’t get to see a single second of it.” Nick groaned, slipping back inside and commenting loudly to whoever was by the door, that the hummus was gone and Y/N was to blame.

“Sorry!” Y/N called back towards Nick’s retreating figure, and Harry chuckled.

“Wanna go back inside? Don’t think you’ve met my mum yet,” Harry’s hand went down to hold onto hers, their fingers linking together naturally.

“Abso-fucking-lutely. Anne’s a legend,” Y/N shook her head, her free hand reaching up to pat down the corners of her eyes and wipe beneath, removing the messy bits of mascara. She didn’t want to look too much like a mess in front of Harry’s mother, after all. Harry didn’t seem to have that in mind though, his eyes still shining as he looked at her.

“Yeah, she is,” and Harry’s smile grew fonder as he roped Y/N in for another hug, the pair of them swinging in an odd three-legged walk back into the house, linked by their hands, into the warm, loud scene of singing, holiday cheer, eggnog, Scrabble, and good tidings.


End file.
